Post by Faolán Conrí Wolfe on Feb 20, 2010 5:37:58 GMT -5
FAOLÁN CONRÍ WOLFE
[/size]- * - * - * - * - * -
&&--You, who shall pull the strings
[/size][/center]Name: Thirteen
Age: 21
Roleplaying Experience: 7 YRS
How you found the site: Proboards Support Advertisement
- * - * - * - * - * -
&&--The character cheat sheet
[/size][/center]Name: Faolán Conrí Wolfe
Gender: Male
Age: 16
Hair Color: black
Eye Color: cerulean
Skin Tone: pale
Height: 5’3’’
Weight: 107
Wealth: Rich
Sexual Orientation: homosexual
Why they are in La Campana:His stepfather is convinced his stepson, Faolán, is a homosexual. No matter what Faolán says to reject this idea, to deny the fact that his stepfather is right, he was sent to this school. [/size]
- * - * - * - * - * -
&&--What makes the clock tick
[/size][/center]Likes:
music (all types)
writing in a journal
pillows
reading
lovely or unique eyes
snow
traveling
naps
day dreaming
Dislikes:
his entire family (he hates them, though he truly does love his mother he blames her for many things)
sports
violence
sweating
change
waking up early
his really weird name
most animals
tea
radishes
Turn Ons:
strong hands
people who take charge
pain(to an extent)
tall
(good luck to making him admit any of these or the fact that he even has turn ons)
Turn Offs:
idiots
indecisiveness
cowards
people who don’t know when to stop
Nervous Habits:
rubs his right wrist
fiddles with his shoulder bag or clothing
tugs his earlobe
Fears:
horses
his stepfather
his mother’s death
Goals/Aspirations:become a doctor, travel to every country in the world, accept himself
Appearance: Short, fragile, delicate looking young man that carries himself as though he is made of steel. His clothes are always of fine material, but not by his choice but of that of his family. On a daily basis he would wear comfortable dark hued pants, and a matching button up shirt or sweater. However he is usually found dressed like some preppy, little rich boy, which technically he is.
His right eye is usually covered with a patch because he got sick of people asking him about why his eye looked the way it does. The eye, if one actually has the chance to see it without the patch, is milky white, and completely blind. His left eye however is a deep blue like the icy cold water’s of his homeland.
Jewelry does not touch his skin, and if it does it is by force. He hates wearing anything cutesy though his mother often pushes him to do so because of his soft features. Always keeping himself neat and clean he ever looks the part of a snob, and his stony expression often matches it. That does not mean he doesn’t smile, laugh, or cry, for he does. He just happens to have a rather large chip on his shoulder, which makes it hard for him to realize it is okay to feel things. Whatever his outfit may be he keeps as much skin covered as possible.
Personality: Like before mentioned he has a chip on his shoulder and tends to try and block all his other feelings, and emotions. He’s not very good at it, being stoic, that is. If someone is crying around him he tends to get rather frazzled, and will usually try to help them out. But if someone is picking on someone else, or him he tends to get hot under the collar quickly. He doesn’t get violent; no he lets his mouth do all the work for him. It usually goes badly for him but he doesn’t think that people should just stand by and let things happen.
Although he was raised to attend dances, luncheons, and other such proper social gatherings he is socially awkward. If someone were to blatantly flirt with him he’d blush like crazy, stammer, and most likely yell at them. He’ll be curt, blunt, and sometimes cruel without ever meaning to, and often finds himself wondering why someone is mad at him when he opening insulted them. It’s hard for him to trust people, and shoves relationships away in fear that he’ll get hurt. Or they may find out something about him that causes them to hate him.
He hates bullies, prejudice, and people who make judgments about others on appearances only. And he’ll make sure these types of people know it, and what he thinks about their slanted view. Very forward in some things, yet a complete closet case in others, literally. But beneath it all is a lonely boy who was raised to hate everything about who he is, and how he feels. All he needs is a little love, and confidence and he’d be just fine.[/font]
- * - * - * - * - * -
&&--A glimpse of the past
[/size][/center]Father:Step-Father Brenton Wolfe,50
Mother: Moyra Wolfe 43
Sibling/s:Step-Sister Keeva,22; Step-brother Carter,19; Step-Brother Maxwell,19; Biological-Sister Nessa,14
Other important relatives: Aunt Elizabeth 52; Grandmother Edna 78; Cousin Mitchell 16
Pets:Opal,8,female cat; Lucifer,4,male cat; Storm Chaser, 3, horse; 14 other various horses family owns
History:His young childhood is very fuzzy to him like to most people, but he remembers something called joy. Until he was six years old his life was perfect in the eyes of one so young. Parents who loved him dearly and who would do anything for him filled his life with love. He’d always had been a weak, sickly child but for most of his life it didn’t affect him too drastically. Up until he was six years old. Coming down with pneumonia he was bed ridden for weeks, and with such a weak immune system it lead to more and more illnesses. Two months later and much of that spent in the hospital he was able to return home. Due to complications that his doctors couldn’t explain, but to blame it on genetics and not some fault of their own, he lost sight in his right eye.
Now to most this does not mean the end of the world, and it wasn’t but this started the year of sorrow. Within five months his father would leave them, within seven his mother would fall into depression, and within eleven a new man was introduced into their lives. That man was Lord Brenton Wolfe, with his three children in tow. Their mother had died soon after the twins’, Maxwell & Carter, birth leaving him a single father of three very young children. He was strong, daring, charming, and handsome or so his mother constantly told him. A mere year and a half later they were married.
His mother fought for him to stay home for years, while his new father insisted he be sent off to boarding school. There are plenty of lives out there worse than his, and he knew this as he tried his best to make his family happy again. By the age of thirteen he’d stop trying, and by the next year he openly hated them. Causing problems at school, at organized social gatherings, and at family socials he was constantly meeting the reprimanding hand of his father. He didn’t care because he hit back.
One day the school contacted Lord Wolfe in concern for the boy’s health, for another boy had reported seeing Faolán crying in the boy’s gym locker room. Week after week reports of this kept occurring, and then it turned into reports of boy’s ‘picking’ on him in the locker room. These boys denied everything saying Faolán was always crying like some baby, and was always hanging around the local ‘gay’ boy. They claimed that he liked the ‘attention’ they gave him and even asked for it. One voice was smothered in all the lies, and by that next autumn he was on a plane for La Campana.
Roleplaying Sample: Horse riding lessons had to be some of the most ridiculous, irrelevant, dangerous lessons he’d ever had to take. The animals were huge, most were skittish, and those hooves could certainly kill someone easily. Pressed against the riding center’s wall he stared at all the other boys his age riding about learning how to control their steeds. His heart slammed against his chest, and he was pretty sure he was about to hyperventilate. Dressed in his riding gear he could somewhat blend in, but he was the only one, other than the instructors, that was not on a horse.
“Fao? Why not get on Storm Chaser? He sure looks like he’d like to join the others.” Faolán glared at the female instructor then turned terrified eyes to the huge, raven stallion beside him. His step father had bought the animal for him for his thirteenth birthday saying it was a proper and elegant sport to get into. Bull, all he wanted was to torture him. The man knew that Fao was petrified of horses, and refused to go near the stables.
“Wolfe, get on your horse before I toss you on him!” The lead instructor was heading his way, and he knew the beast of a man was serious. Mostly, because the man had shoved him on the bloody animal last week after he’d refused to ride. He shook his head vigorously his entire body shaking as he turned to look at the horse again. If he didn’t know any better he would have sworn the creature was enjoying making him miserable. The animal snorted and pawed the ground moving to nudge him in the shoulder with its muzzle. Letting out a yelp Faolán scrambled away from the animal only to be snatched up by the beast man, and shoved into the saddle.
“If you toss me off again horse I am going to have you shipped off and turned into glue.” He whispered vehemently his legs clamped tight around the horse’s broad middle, and hands clenching the reigns for dear life. The horse whinnied and shook its mane as though it were laughing at him.
Fourteen minutes later he was on the ground.
